


someone waiting for you

by westhouse



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: It's shippy in here but only vaguely, M/M, Multi, could be read as friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 16:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westhouse/pseuds/westhouse
Summary: Mr. Dragonfly knows everything once again, and Evani decides he needs to start having more near-death experiences. for @cabwaylingo





	someone waiting for you

**Author's Note:**

> ahh it's our shitty skyrim OCs! wonderful news!

These days, when Evani is walking, both Eli and Inigo walk somewhere behind him—not quite following but lying in wait, both of them with keen eyes and easy smiles. Some part of him thinks he must look funny, followed around by these two huge khajiit. Still, it’s better to look funny than terrifying, and despite the racial anxiety many Nords display around the cats, the whole of Skyrim seems to accept him more readily when they are joining him. It is more Eliane’s presence than Inigo’s, probably; the handsome, one-eyed witch hunter is a universally reassuring presence, from the gentle lilt of his accent to the certainty with which he holds his bow.

They must be headed toward Morthal now, or somewhere close. The air has grown bitterly cold, something which bothers Inigo most of all. It has been a long time since Evani has been either too cold or too hot, an uncomfortable fact which makes him wonder at what horrid thing the Daedra must have hid inside of him. He lacks most mortal discomforts on most days.

“Mr. Dragonfly thinks the ice here may not be safe,” Inigo says carefully, his hand grazing the sturdy jar tied to his belt. Inside of it, the huge dragonfly flits around uneasily—or maybe just normally, but he sure _seems_ uneasy. “It is making him nervous.”

Beside him, Eli snorts, tucking a loose strand of hair back. “All due respect, friend, you sometimes project on him,” he says soothingly, veering slightly in his path to bump against Inigo’s shoulder. Evani will admit both a quiet jealousy and amazement at their affections for each other, the easy and familiar way they touch and talk; Eli’s warmth does not negate his private ways, and he has kept Evani so at arm’s length he sometimes feels stifled. Yet Inigo earned the leader of the Thieves’ Guild’s attention and respect almost immediately. He deserves it, and Evani knows that, but it doesn’t negate the envy.

“I don’t know,” Evani says carefully, turning back and slowing down to look up at the two of them. He has been cautioned not to walk backward many times, and has never once listened. “He might be right. It’s nearing the thaw.” They’re already crossing the lake, though, and so far he hasn’t felt any unstable ice. Maybe he’s just trying to make Inigo feel smart.

Inigo is saying, “It is, which is exactly why—” when there is a deafening crack beneath them.

One or all of them is swearing before the ice crumbles, giving way to the freezing still waters beneath them.

Evani’s initial instinct is to check to make sure his friends are okay, and this instinct is curbed immediately by the fact that he is underwater and sinking fast. It’s… it’s cold. Whatever joy there is in that is sick and misguided, given the situation, but he is suddenly _frigid,_ whatever Daedric blessing or curse he harboured obliterated under the sheer drop in temperature. It takes a second too long for the fear to kick in.

 

* * *

 

 

Inigo opens his eyes and immediately feels panic grip him, a familiar feeling he is almost upsettingly comfortable with. He’s always been good at acting under pressure, quick—but still he sounds a little too shrill. “He’s fallen in!” he hisses, searching for Eli and watching him scramble to his feet.

“Ah, shit,” Eli says.

Claws skittering for purchase on the ice, Inigo rights himself as well, sliding back a little from the edge of the hole that had opened. “What do we do?” He is, to his core, a follower and not a leader.

Eli drops to the surface of the ice, swinging his backpack off his shoulders and delving into it. Before Inigo can ask what he’s doing, he’s pulling out a little glass vial wrapped in cloth. “Waterbreathing potion,” he says shortly, before downing it like a shot and grimacing at the taste. Then he says, “If I don’t come back up, get the hell off the lake.”

There’s no time to argue before he has tossed off his cloak and his overcoat, and dove into the water.

 

* * *

 

 

Evani is shivering violently, sputtering and coughing, the intensity of it racking his tiny elven frame in a way that terrifies Inigo. He grabs him as soon as Eli pulls him out, drawing him in close and saying, “You’re safe, my friend, we have you. We have you,” in a low voice that he hopes doesn’t betray his panic.

The other khajiit shakes himself off and, with an unsteady burst of magic, dries his body. Inigo watches him wide-eyed, and grimaces when he says, “It’s not going to be that easy with him,” thoroughly apologetic.

From somewhere within him, the elf pulls up the great willpower to speak, and he laughs weakly. “Is it ever?” Despite himself he leans hard into Inigo’s arms, shaking as he presses his face into the cat’s shoulder. He smells nice, like juniper berries and fur. “Sorry,” he huffs into his coat, “damn it, I am sorry.”

“Please do _not_ apologise,” Inigo reprimands him, genuinely put off. “You could have died. It is not your fault. We need to get you somewhere warm. Here.” Then he’s shrugging off his cloak and his coat after it, draping both over Evani’s shoulders, ears pressed back with clear concern.

“We’ll get back to the road, I’ll start a fire,” Eli says, catching up with his pack full and his eyes drifting already to the horizon.

 

* * *

 

Maybe the reason Inigo’s letting him do this is because of the whole near-death experience thing, but Evani doesn’t really care at the moment.

The fire outside the mouth of the tent is roaring and beautiful, radiating more heat than he can process. Still, it isn’t quite warm enough—he feels like he was soaked to the bone and like nothing can quite help, which is why he’s nestled himself as deep into Inigo’s arms as he possibly can. The khajiit is _impossibly_ warm and soft, and the blanket wrapped around them both is helping, too. He breathes deeply and tries not to let out a contented sound at the comfort of it all.

“How are you doing, my friend?” asks Inigo quietly, with a hint of unease in his voice but no longer any real fear. His tail twitches a little, betraying some disturbance.

“I’m okay,” Evani replies, not sure if it’s true. “I’ll _be_ okay. Sorry again. How… absolutely novice of me.”

“Is it an inappropriate time for a ‘Mr. Dragonfly told you so’?” asks Eliane, shaking snow out of his fur as he comes to settle near them. For a second he seems to think about it and then he flops down onto the ground, stretching out so his head rests in Inigo’s lap—but partially too on Evani’s leg, which is new.

“Uh—” he swallows how flustered he is by this, and laughs. “It’s always too soon, honestly. He’s awfully condescending, you know.”

“He does not mean any harm,” Inigo says apologetically, and he earns a couple of chuckles. After a while, he stops watching the fire and peers at the two of them curiously. “... I was just thinking of saying, this is nice. Not the part where you almost died in a cold lake. Obviously that was no good. But all three of us like this, this is nice.”

Evani’s breath catches and he supposes he might blush, but how would he know, given how warm he is anyway? Still… “Guess so, yeah. I think so.” He pauses and then tentatively asks, “Eliane?”

Eli opens his eye, blinks, and squints at them both for a second. Finally he huffs out a little laugh and says, “Mm. Sure is.”

Between them all the fire crackles, casting warm orange light on them as the sun begins creeping toward the distant horizon.


End file.
